I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. But I'd a mind to try whether you really loved him as much as you pretended. Once inside, he looked around, worried that his parents would suddenly cancel their trip and return home. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. There indeed you see Monte Rosa. I thank God for His sunlight on your face.
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